Grounded
by A Deed Without a Name
Summary: Within all the annoyances of being human, Castiel has found at least one true joy: food. He enjoys eating immensely, and the Winchesters seem more than happy to indulge him. WARNING: Contains Wincestiel, implied Wincest, weight gain, stuffing, feeding, gluttony, belly play, feeder!Sam/Dean, and chubby!feedee!oblivious!Castiel.


"You know what today is, Cas?"

Castiel, mouth full of the maple-syrup mash of a sausage link, looked up at Dean when he cleared his throat and asked the question. He blinked, then swallowed, searching his memory. It got hard, though, when Dean set a full plate of bacon down next to the one Castiel was currently working on, still half-full of sausage, eggs, and the first batch of bacon. Castiel loved bacon.

"No," he was forced to admit after a second. "What's today?"

"Anniversary of the two of us meeting you for the very first time," Dean announced, smiling at Castiel before he turned around and crossed the bunker's kitchen, returning to the stove. "Or me, I guess. This is all according to Sam. He keeps track of all that scrapbook bullshit."

Castiel glanced at Sam, sitting across the small metal table from him, just in time to catch his eyes rolling. Having finished his own breakfast (something called avocado toast, the appearance of which Castiel found less than appetizing), he had nothing in front of him but his tablet and a cup of coffee. His excellent color and easy movements were a vast source of relief for Castiel, after the horror the Trials had wrought on his body.

He was not entirely sure why Sam was doing so well. He didn't think Sam was, either. It was a secret he knew Dean was keeping for Sam's own good, though, so he wouldn't push.

"You've done a lot for us," Sam began. "Seriously. A _lot_. You're...an important part of our family, Cas." He smiled at Castiel, soft and fond. "We wanna show you that."

Something warm as melted butter filled Castiel. It was a feeling he'd gotten used to since he'd had his Grace stolen and become human, and the Winchesters were usually the cause. "Thank you, Sam. But you really don't have to do that for me."

"Too bad." Dean speared a sausage in the pan he was standing over, let it cool for only a moment before snapping into it. "We wanna do it."

"We've got a whole day planned," Sam agreed, making a sweeping gesture with one hand.

"Bought all your favorite snacks, gonna take you out to lunch," Dean started around a full mouth. "I'm gonna make dinner, too. Whatever dessert you want, so think about that. And then we're gonna have a movie night."

"And _then_ ," Sam chimed in, smiling again, "we've got a surprise for you."

Castiel was excited. He couldn't help that, and he couldn't help beaming ridiculously, either. It had been a few months, and he'd realized he didn't enjoy being human. There was so much to do just for basic maintenance. Regulation of body temperature. Sleep. Hygiene. The disposal of a dozen different bodily fluids, most of which he'd had no idea even existed. There was, though, one thing he did enjoy, and that was eating.

It was obvious the Winchesters knew that, and not just because of what they were doing today. It seemed they were always bringing or buying him the foods he'd discovered he liked. Their attentiveness touched something tender and wanting deep inside Castiel, and he hoped they were aware of how grateful he was that he'd been brought back to the bunker and welcomed with open arms.

"Thank you," Castiel told Sam and Dean earnestly. "Both of you. If you really want to do this, I am definitely not going to stop you."

He picked up his fork again, made short work of the plate in front of him as Dean cooked and Sam went back to whatever he'd been reading. Breakfast was always excellent whenever Dean made it. When he was finished, Castiel moved the plate aside and grabbed the extra bacon he'd been given.

He'd already crunched into two strips, eyes closing in pleasure, when Sam spoke up with a voice full of concerned frowns. "Sure you don't wanna take it a little easier?"

Castiel opened his eyes, puzzled. "Why?" He usually tried not to talk with a full mouth, but it was hard to remember to swallow when the food tasted so good.

Sam opened his mouth to answer but Dean, on his way to his seat with a plate of his own, lightly smacked the back of his head. Sam shot him a glare, then told Castiel "Never mind."

They'd aim to leave for lunch at eleven, so Castiel had plenty of time to get ready, but he chose to shower as soon as he was finished with breakfast. Showering wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it had taken him such a long time to get the hang of it. The internet had been an excellent resource, as had children's books, and Dean, standing red-faced outside the curtain and muttering step-by-step instructions. Castiel could do it on his own now.

He got dressed back in his room. This was another thing he disliked about being human, although it was more puzzling than unpleasant: his clothes didn't fit forever. The ones he'd started out with were no good anymore, and neither were the ones he'd borrowed from Dean. He was wearing Sam's now, which were too long and getting too tight, but he didn't want to say anything. He knew how money worked and that the Winchesters were already spending entirely too much on him.

Castiel was able to tell things no longer fit because his vessel (just his body, now) had changed. His stomach was a very obvious swell under Sam's T-shirt when he pulled it on, pillow-soft to the touch, and his chest was two smaller swells that reminded him of the breasts on his female vessels. Men didn't have breasts, though.

It was tough to tug Sam's jeans up past thighs that had grown much thicker, and the denim was snug enough against Castiel's larger, rounder bottom to be uncomfortable. His belly puffed over the waistband when he zipped and buttoned, and so did the very soft rolls at the tops of his widened hips. Castiel rather liked those, actually. They intrigued him.

So did his face, rounder when he looked in the mirror, with a plush bulge almost like a second chin under his jaw.

He had no idea why any of this was happening. He'd asked Sam about it when he went to borrow his clothes, and Sam hadn't known, either, which probably meant there wasn't an explanation. Castiel wasn't all that upset.

He pulled on one of Sam's jackets. Temperature regulation was becoming easier in the chilly bunker, for some reason, but wasn't quite effortless yet. Then he went to go and find his hunters.

* * *

By the time they went to lunch, Castiel had been snacking all morning.

He hadn't intended to, but Dean had been telling the truth about buying all of his favorites. Potato chips, snack cakes, fun-sized candy bars. It was too hard to resist, when he knew it was there and it all tasted so good, and it wasn't like there was much else to do with Sam (doing research) or Dean (restoring damaged firearms). Castiel had been worried it would ruin his appetite, but when he walked into their favorite diner in Lebanon with his jeans and shirt tighter than they'd been when he put them on, the smell of grilling meat had his stomach growling.

"Two double bacon cheeseburgers, please," Castiel told the waitress who'd shown them to their booth. "Fries on the side, and a large Coke." He smiled across the table at Dean. He'd started introducing Castiel to his favorite foods as soon as he got him to the bunker, and it'd turned out their tastes were nearly identical.

Dean smirked back at him before ordering more or less the same thing, albeit with only one cheeseburger.

"Attaboy," he encouraged. Castiel glowed at the praise. "Good thing I took you out to eat before Sam did, else you'd've probably ordered a salad or something."

Sam, who actually had ordered a salad (as a side for his turkey club, though), shook his head at the grin his brother sent him. He told Castiel, "I'm just glad you've found so much stuff you like. You've never had to eat before, so. It could've been a lot harder than it was."

Castiel smiled. Two pairs of boots knocked against his own under the table.

The food was excellent when it came, just like it always was. There was a reason this was their favorite restaurant. The fries were hot and salty, the burgers dripping with meat juice and grease and melted cheese. Castiel couldn't help shutting his eyes or moaning with pleasure as he worked his way through the meal, earning chuckles from Sam and Dean.

Castiel's (Sam's) shirt, the hem barely inside his waistband to begin with, untucked itself as he ate, and he had to unbutton his jeans before he started his second burger. By the time he was finished, nothing but crumbs and condiments on his plate and ice in his glass, the gentle swelling of his stomach had driven his zipper down. His shirt tightly hugged the top and his boxer briefs the bottom, with a wide band of pale pink flesh exposed in the middle.

"You good, Cas?" Sam asked him with his familiar casual concern. "Or d'you want dessert?"

Castiel hesitated. He burped, covering his mouth with a hand like he'd been taught. He was by no means full, despite the size and heft of his belly, and he was craving something sweet after the burgers and fries. He just wasn't sure he should get anything else. Dessert after such a big lunch, on top of the morning's snacking? Gluttony was a sin.

As the silence stretched on, the Winchesters shared a lightning-strike glance. Castiel wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't known them so well. Dean cleared his throat and announced, "Well I, for one, am gonna get dessert." He flagged down their waitress, and Castiel was decided. He ordered two slices of apple pie to Dean's one, each with a scoop of ice cream, and a strawberry milkshake.

The pie wasn't as good as what Dean made, but it was still good enough for Castiel to eat every bite. The Winchesters seemed pleased.

They used to tell him he was eating too much, especially Sam. Advised him to go slower or told him he was going to make himself sick, which he never had. All of that had stopped abruptly, though, after Castiel saw the two of them deep in heated conversation a few times. He was glad.

After the check had come and the plates had been cleared away, Castiel was slowly turning himself to get out of the booth, panting softly. Things went much faster when Dean grabbed his hand and helped him up, a little grunt of effort slipping out of him.

Castiel's belly, grown to maybe twice the size it'd been when they entered the diner and now more free of his clothing than not, led the way back out to the car. He had to move slowly, in a wide-legged, rolling walk he'd learned was called a waddle, and it seemed he couldn't hardly take a breath without having to belch afterwards. He groaned as he slid into the back seat of the Impala.

It felt good, though. After all the negative experiences he'd had with hunger, Castiel couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of being so very full. Of having eaten so much good food.

"Not sure now's a good time to ask, but," Dean began, starting the engine. "Cas. Know what you want me to make for dessert yet?"

"Chocolate cake," Castiel blurted, absentmindedly stroking the soft shape of his stomach with both hands. "Uh, brownies...French silk pie...fried Oreos?"

He was craving chocolate. When Dean turned around to back out of the parking space, though, and looked at him with raised eyebrows, Castiel's face heated up. Blushing: one more human thing he didn't appreciate.

"I'm sorry," Castiel mumbled. "I'll choose one." Difficult as it may be.

"No, no," Sam was quick to assure him. "It's all right. Today's your day. And Dean doesn't mind, right?" He glanced at his brother, who shook his head.

"Nah, of course not," Dean agreed. "I love cooking. Tell anybody that and I'll have to kill you, though. I got a reputation to maintain." He winked at Castiel in the rearview mirror. "You can have as much as you want."

Back at the bunker, Dean headed for the kitchen to get started, and Sam went back to the library. Castiel retreated to his room, the caloric payload in his gut making him feel sleepy as his body worked through it. He turned on Netflix after settling his bulk onto his soft mattress, but wound up napping most of the afternoon away. He woke every hour or so, waddled down to the kitchen, where Dean was more than happy to take a break from baking to help him find a snack. As a result, Castiel's belly stayed much too large for his shirt and jeans all the way up to dinner.

Castiel spent almost all his days like this, recently. It was wonderful.

Dinner, when Sam woke him for it, was homemade pizza. The Winchesters drank beer with it, Castiel had soda. He disliked most kinds of alcohol, preferring sweet, sugary drinks instead. It was one of the few things he and Dean differed on.

Castiel was already pleasantly bloated, stomach brushing warm against his thighs through the denim of his jeans, when Dean asked him, "Hey, Cas. Ever had wings?"

Castiel blinked up at him as he cleared the plates off the map table, feeling as slow as he often did when he was this full. He reached over his shoulder, touching his back. "Well, I...I _used_ to..."

"No, no." Sam spoke up, sounding like he felt bad. "Not those kindsa wings. He means, like, hot wings. Chicken wings."

"Oh." That made a lot more sense, although Castiel hadn't known the wings were an edible part of the chicken. Could you eat the feet then, too? "No, I haven't."

"Awesome." Dean grinned. "I tried my hand at 'em, made a few different kinds. I'd like you to tell me what you think."

As always, Castiel was more than happy to give Dean feedback on something he'd made, and especially to eat it. He heaved himself out of his chair with just a little help from Sam, who was closest, and then the three of them headed to one of the bunker's many empty bedrooms. It had been set up with a large TV and lots of pillows on the bed. Castiel settled into those, groaning as the many contents of his stomach sloshed audibly inside him, while Sam set up the first movie they'd be watching and Dean went to get the wings.

Honestly, Castiel didn't pay very much attention to the movie, or the ones that came after it. His focus was wholly on the seemingly-endless supply of wings Dean had created, glazed with hot sauce, honey barbecue, and something fruity. Maybe pineapple? Each flavor was perfectly excellent. With a Winchester on either side of him, their shoulders and hips casually brushing his own softened form, Castiel gorged himself to his heart's content on chicken and soda.

He was burping every few minutes as his belly steadily expanded in the most pleasing way, and constantly wiping his hands and mouth on the napkins Dean had had the foresight to bring him. By the time the wings had finally run out, Castiel was breathing hard and holding back a moan of well-filled pleasure, and his stomach was resting entirely on his lap. It was heavy and hot.

When Dean put a hand on it, Castiel would have jumped, had he not been heavy enough for his plush bottom to be sinking into the mattress at the moment.

"Look at that." Dean rubbed affectionately, and Castiel's eyelids dropped like window shades. "'Bout ready to pop, looks like." There was a fond chuckle, and then Dean's breath was warm on Castiel's ear. "Want dessert?"

"Of - " Castiel was interrupted by a belch. " - course."

Dean had been very, very busy today, and Castiel might have felt bad if he didn't seem to genuinely enjoy cooking so much...and watching Castiel eat what he made. He'd done everything Castiel had asked for. The cake, the pie, the brownies, the Oreos, and all of it was incredible. For the millionth time, Castiel was grateful for the human ability that let him taste foods themselves rather than their molecular components. He sampled each dish, then asked for more, and it wasn't long until he couldn't move.

He was pinned to the mattress by the weight of his overstuffed stomach. Immobility happened to him often, especially in the evening, and Castiel wasn't ashamed to admit he loved the feeling. The one drawback was that he couldn't get up to get more to eat. Tonight, though, Sam and Dean were with him, and they were more than happy to help. They brought him more and more of Dean's amazing desserts as he begged for them, fed him by hand, filled him to the absolute brim.

Castiel was finally satisfied when the sheer size of his belly forced him onto his back, head and shoulders cushioned by pillows. He was massively stuffed, half-asleep, taking shallow breaths as his stomach contentedly gurgled and hiccups rolled out of him. His arms were tucked across the pillowy mounds on his chest, wrists folded, fingers curled. Drowsy and extremely happy, Castiel barely noticed when a low, rhythmic rumbling started in his chest and throat, replacing the hiccups.

"Man, he's just freakin' enorm - " Dean had been talking, tone awestruck, but cut himself off suddenly as if startled. "What...what's that? Cas, you okay?"

"Almost sounds like he's - " Sam abruptly stopped talking, too. When he spoke again, his vocal patterns had changed, voice slightly lower and much more formal. Castiel barely registered it, idly wondered at the cause. "He's purring. It's a vestige of angelhood, much like how his stomach has managed to expand without causing him any harm or pain. It means he's very pleased, feels very safe." Sam paused. "I've never heard anyone purr outside of Heaven before."

"Oh my god." Dean was angry, hissing. "Get the hell outta here. Why're you even here? This ain't got nothing to do with you."

Silence from Sam, and then he finished his earlier statement as if he hadn't interrupted himself, voice back to normal: " - purring. Y'know, like a cat? Maybe it means he's happy."

"I'm sure that's exactly what it means." The fury had drained right out of Dean's tone.

"Cas, you ate _everything_ Dean made for you tonight," Sam murmured directly to Castiel. A large hand petted his vulnerable, sensitive belly. "You feel good?"

In answer, Castiel purred harder, automatic and involuntary.

"Think it's about time for your surprise," Dean told him huskily.

A moment later, there was a mouth against Castiel's, soft and full, tasting of pizza and beer and homemade French silk pie. Castiel knew what a kiss was. He just wasn't sure why Dean was giving him one.

His confusion - and the rest of his thoughts - vanished when Dean put a hand on his stomach and began to rub with deep, rolling motions. Waves of pleasure filled Castiel, stilled his mind. He was overwhelmed by physical sensations: Dean's lips moving against his own, mouth automatically opening to allow his tongue in; Dean's other hand, strong and callused, joining his first on Castiel's middle; a hot, wet, and lingering kiss planted on the taut skin of his belly. That kiss was from Sam. Castiel could feel his hair tickling over his gut like soft feathers, and his nose pressed into the layer of softness that covered it when his lips parted and he began to mouth.

Castiel shuddered under both Winchesters, as Dean rubbed and kissed him, as Sam sucked a line of warm, gentle marks from his navel to his hip. In Castiel's mind, they burned a brilliant pink on his downy, snow-pale skin, maybe flicker with the wet-forest rainbow of Sam's eyes.

"You're getting so soft, Cas," Sam murmured huskily into Castiel's ample flesh. He'd reached the roll over his hip and was worshiping it with his mouth and nose, kissing and nuzzling. "We must be taking real good care of you."

Castiel moaned into Dean's mouth, and a familiar sensation, one he'd felt only a couple of times before in this body, took root between his legs. A tightness, a heat, a need. Arousal. Blood rushed downwards, and his penis strained against the fabric of his underwear as it hardened.

A hand brushed the bulge. It had to be Sam's, seeing as both of Dean's were still busy with Castiel's very plump belly. Speaking of Dean, he broke their kiss to ask a question, voice rough as wet gravel.

"This okay?" He panted against Castiel's jaw. "You want it?"

Of course Castiel had been purring this entire time. With how they were treating him, he couldn't have stopped it if he wanted to. Dean's question made him purr even harder. It was much easier than answering verbally.

They understood his consent. Dean returned to kissing him, and Castiel turned his head to meet him halfway. Sam, meanwhile, pulled the waistband of Castiel's boxer briefs down past his scrotum so his member sprang free to rest against the curve of his stomach. He wrapped his hand around it, feeling out the length and girth even as Castiel's erection continued to grow. The contact was like lightning bolts. Castiel's hips would've jerked if he hadn't been so very heavy.

Sam groaned against Castiel's belly, the vibrations traveling through the rich food that filled it. Dean stopped kissing Castiel again in order to chuckle.

"Sammy's a size queen," he murmured. "You must be packing some monster meat for him to make that noise."

"He's _huge_ , Dean," Sam informed him. Castiel could feel every callus and scar on his hand where he was holding him, the skin down there just as sensitive as his stomach. "He might even be bigger than you."

"Nobody's bigger than me." Dean sounded offended, so Castiel kissed him to make him feel better. It seemed to work, seeing as he shifted so he was laying alongside him, fondling his enormous belly and kissing him.

Castiel would have been content just to have Sam hold his engorged rod, but once he seemed satisfied Castiel had reached his full potential in terms of size, he began to stroke him. Castiel's purrs stuttered, his toes curled, and his knees bent. It was almost too much as Sam went up, then down, rubbed his thumb over Castiel's head, steadily picked up the pace. It felt good in the same way that Dean rubbing his stomach and Sam kissing it did. He had had sex before, once, with a reaper, and it had been mind-blowing at the time. This, though...this was different. Better.

Maybe a minute or two of utter bliss passed before Castiel began to feel that the pleasure was building to its climax. He shivered, feeling himself jiggling, and then...he crested. It was an explosion, an orgasm five times as good as the one he'd experienced with the reaper. He couldn't stop himself from crying out against Dean. His seed, warm, left him in a burst, splattered on his belly. When it was all over, he felt fuzzy and sleepy and wonderful. His purr was low and gentle.

"I...think I finished," Castiel mumbled, disoriented but not at all in a bad way.

"Yep; you came," Dean told him. Castiel heard the smile in his voice, then he told Sam, "Better clean up the mess you made."

Sam let go of Castiel, gone soft and small, and then he felt his tongue against the lower part of his stomach, cleaning up his spend with slow, tender laps.

"You'll like this," Sam told Dean when he was finished, smacking his lips. "His come's sweet."

"No wonder, with all the sugar we're feeding him." Dean kissed Castiel's chin, then pushed himself up. "Switch?"

They did. Sam kissed him, and his mouth did indeed taste sweet. He began to give him a belly rub, too. Dean, on the other hand, moved down to between his spread legs. Then he took Castiel into his mouth. Castiel whimpered, oversensitive, but Dean did nothing but hold him there in the warmth and the wetness for many long minutes. He gripped Castiel's hips, too, fingers going under him to sink deep into his cushiony bottom.

Once Castiel began to grow again, recovered in the dark room with the TV still playing in the background, Dean helped him along. He bobbed his head, he sucked. And when Castiel was back to his full size, he pulled his mouth off, presumably so he could look at it.

"God _damn_ ," he marveled. "Y'know, I saw his dick plenty when I was teachin' him how to shower, but he's a grower." The mattress creaked as he pushed himself up to look at Sam. "Hey, Sammy, remember the first time we saw him with a boner? Wonder if he likes being spanked."

"Well, next time, we can have him _not_ eat his body weight in cake so we can find out," Sam replied. He'd stopped kissing Castiel and propped himself up on an elbow, but one hand was still resting comfortably on Castiel's obscenely-bloated stomach. "Doubt even you and I together could roll him over right now. Could we?" he asked Castiel.

Castiel purred, blinking slowly and smiling sleepily up at Sam. It made no sense for him to like hearing them talk about how big he was, how heavy, how much he'd eaten. But he did.

Dean chuckled. Tone commanding, Sam told him, "Suck Cas off, De. And swallow every drop."

Castiel's member, wet with saliva, had grown cold, so reentering Dean's warm mouth was very welcome. Dean took him past his mouth, swallowed him into the depths of his throat. Miraculously, he did not gag. He bobbed his head again, slurping loudly, Castiel sliding in and out of him without ever having to move. Sam rubbed Castiel's belly rhythmically and kissed his temple as he watched his brother at work.

"He's really good at this," Sam murmured to Castiel. "Trust me."

Castiel had to concur. Dean was quite skilled. It took longer to reach the climax this time, but it was better, so good it nearly hurt. Dean wrung it out of him with his exquisite mouth, sucked him dry. Castiel was left panting, winded despite having done absolutely nothing, and feeling as if his entire body had gone fluid.

"That's probably enough for tonight." That sounded like Sam. Castiel couldn't be sure at the moment.

"Yeah, 'nother one'd probably knock him out. " Likely Dean.

They pulled Castiel's underwear back up, then left, for a time. Not long. When they came back, they smelled deeply of each other, and of the salty musk of sex. They folded themselves protectively around Castiel, and kissed him goodnight. Castiel fell asleep with both brothers lovingly rubbing his gut, ridiculously well-fed. Their creation.

His last thought was that perhaps there were a couple things he enjoyed about being human beyond just food.

Or, more accurately, a couple of somebodies.


End file.
